


Uneasy

by aliaoftwoworlds



Series: Bitter Retribution [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Author is Bitter, Civil War Team Iron Man, Clint is present too but doesn't do much, Gen, Not Steve Friendly, Not Wanda Friendly, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), not team Cap friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 17:16:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14938518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliaoftwoworlds/pseuds/aliaoftwoworlds
Summary: The Rogue Avengers find that living on the run isn’t easy, and some of their members are having second thoughts about what they’re doing to keep themselves alive and out of trouble.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the “Rogues turn on each other” parts of this series, and as such, some of them need to come to their senses, so this isn’t exactly unfriendly to all of them. But as always, Steve and Wanda are not going to be forgiven.

They’d been on the run for nearly three months now, and Sam was… worn out. Worn _down_ was more like it, actually. Three months was a hell of a long time to be living essentially on the streets, constantly on edge and looking over their shoulders, worrying not only about keeping themselves healthy and fed but also about staying away from law enforcement or civilians who might report them. 

He was beginning to have more sympathy for Barnes and how he’d had to live when he was on the run after D.C., trying to sort out the mess in his head and stay out of sight at the same time. Of course, he hadn’t had the disadvantage of his face being known to just about everyone on the planet. And of course he wasn’t on the run with them now.

Steve had had the hardest time with that, Sam was sure of it. It wasn’t just about leaving Wakanda behind, gorgeous as the country was, it was about leaving Barnes behind. Sam could admit the smallest amount of jealousy at that; all the rest of them had risked everything to help Steve help Barnes, and it seemed Steve’s number one priority was Barnes, even over his teammates, his allies. When T’Challa had kicked them out and told them that Barnes had asked to stay in cryo in Wakanda, Steve had been so depressed by the separation that he hadn’t contributed at all to their planning for nearly a week after they left the country. Sam had been patient, tried to be understanding, but he couldn’t help the hurt growing in him at the idea that Steve didn’t seem to care about what happened to any of them, only about Barnes.

When he’d first joined up with Steve in D.C., he was absolutely blinded by hero-worship. After all, this was _Captain America_ , not only an American hero but also one of Sam’s personal heroes since he was a kid. One of the reasons he joined the military. And to meet the man and learn that he was just as good, and righteous, and willing to do whatever it took to do the right thing, as the legends said, that just cemented Sam’s loyalty to him.

If he’d spent more time thinking about it after that, maybe he’d have recognized that putting the man on that kind of pedestal was not a good thing. After all, Steve was still a human being, he couldn’t possibly be perfect, and imagining him to be was only setting Sam up for disappointment. 

It sure took a hell of a long time, though. And now, after months on the run with him, Sam was starting to realize that the only reason it took so long to see was because of Sam’s own personality flaws. He wasn’t an incredibly confrontational person, but he’d always considered himself to be more of a leader than a follower, and he’d always thought of himself as strong-willed. Sure, he did well taking orders in the military, but that was more a product of discipline and respect for his superiors and the chain of command than a lack of willingness to think for himself. He wasn’t one to be influenced by peer pressure, or so he’d thought.

But the situation with Steve was exactly that, and Sam was starting to have to admit that to himself, as much as it hurt. Yes, Steve was a good man at heart, and he definitely had a good reputation that was well deserved. But not every one of his opinions was automatically informed or correct, and Sam had just blindly accepted every one of them, apparently because he lacked the strength to think for himself when it came to things like that. It was so much _easier_ to just agree with whatever Steve said, trust that Steve knew what he was doing and would make good choices, and apparently, Sam was one to take the easy route. He was ashamed to admit it to himself.

Sam just assumed Steve had been right in D.C., and they’d saved a hell of a lot of people and stopped some really bad people with what they’d done. It didn’t matter that, had he been a completely uninvolved civilian sitting at home and watching Romanoff’s self-important, condescending speech, he’d have wanted to put a bullet in her for daring to be so nonchalant about the lives she’d put at risk with that little stunt. He’d been there, and it was Steve, the good man, who was part of that whole incident, so he must have been right. 

It didn’t matter that Sam had just about as much of a case of hero worship for Stark as Steve growing up and during his time in the military, that Stark was well known for keeping their soldiers safe even before he became Iron Man and became known for saving innocents in other ways. Steve disliked Stark, called him arrogant and rude and untrustworthy, so Sam automatically saw those things in Stark as soon as they met, and he changed his views of the man to reflect Steve’s.

And it didn’t matter that Wanda was clearly unstable and dangerous, that she was a _volunteer_ for the very terrorist organization they’d nearly died fighting before, that she willingly worked with Ultron, that she set the Hulk off, causing him to kill innocents against his will and, as far as Sam knew, never even so much as apologized for it. It didn’t matter that she’d messed around in all their minds and never apologized for that, either. Steve trusted her. He said she’d changed, that she wanted to help, and he called her an Avenger, so Sam trusted her too.

That was his mistake—well, one of many, but it was the one that started to make him understand his own faults, recognize that Steve wasn’t as perfect as Sam had made him out to be and that he needed to start thinking for himself.

Wanda had been obviously unstable even before T’Challa had kicked them out of Wakanda. She spent her time ranting about how Stark had ruined everything and was keeping them all away from their home with “his” Accords. Sam had been too raw and angry himself to admit that he disagreed with her, or to recognize the small, logical voice in his head that pointed out that Stark neither wrote the Accords nor “forced them” to become fugitives. He was too angry at Stark himself, for tricking Sam into trusting him and telling him where to find Steve and Barnes, only to have them come back beaten bloody and with only three arms between them, but he was still sane enough to be wary of Wanda’s anger, of the magic that lashed out seemingly randomly. And the same small, logical part of him that knew a lot of her anger was unjustified, the part that became hurt and upset when Steve ignored them all for Barnes, was also angry at Steve for ignoring Wanda’s outbursts and indulging her anger instead of telling her to control it and keep her magic to herself.

But Sam considered himself a peacekeeper above all else, and if they were going to go on the run together, stay in a group in order to try to protect each other, then they needed to get along as much as possible. So he squashed down his fear of Wanda, his annoyance at Barton’s constant complaining and impotent anger, and his growing disappointment with Steve, and they set out together to try to find somewhere to blend in and settle down, at least until all the excitement over them started to die out.

Steve seemed confident that everything would blow over and they would eventually be welcomed back. He said that the world needed them, needed the Avengers, and that they would eventually realize it, especially when the Accords didn’t work out. Sam didn’t have the heart to tell him that not only did that kind of document, once it was that far along, not usually just go away, but also that from an outsider’s perspective, Stark was by and large the most important of the Avengers from the start, and likely still was now. 

Iron Man was the face of the team, easily the most versatile member, and the most effective, too. The Hulk was obviously stronger and Thor had more raw power, but the Hulk was uncontrolled—and he’d been gone ever since Ultron anyway—and Thor was rarely around. Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Sam, even with super serum or amazing skills and equipment, were just people, and though Stark was too, his suit—and the brains that made it—made him something more. Wanda had powerful magic, but it was uncontrolled and people were afraid of her. Sam knew the general public, most likely, would rejoice in having her gone, and if it were a choice between Iron Man alone and all the rest of them, Sam had a feeling he knew who the public would choose to have on their side. 

If Stark continued to play nice with the Accords, and particularly if he found some new people to beef up the roster now that two thirds of them had become fugitives, the chances were slim to none that the world would ever be on its knees begging them to come back. Stark had the public support, the money, the resources, the connections, and they had nothing but their reputations—which were in the toilet now that they were criminals. Sam didn’t share Steve’s optimism (denial); he’d seen the news reports about the destruction in Germany, the casualties in Romania. Even before that, in Lagos, people were starting to fear them more than they appreciated them. Stark, by virtue of no longer being an active duty member of the team, was spared the growing public discontent of the months leading up to Lagos and its immediate aftermath, and though Sam still believed the Accords were dangerous and restrictive, he knew the public didn’t see it that way, and would commend Stark for fighting against them.

He didn’t voice this opinion, though. It wouldn’t do any of them any good. As long as they stayed focused on keeping themselves safe, instead of letting their attention wander or risking dangerous forays into public places because they believed the heat was off them, then there was no reason to bring down the mood. Instead, he focused on keeping the team together and as positive as possible.

It was difficult, though. He’d known it would be, naturally, but he could admit to himself that he’d underestimated exactly how much trouble they were in. Leaving Wakanda had left them in Africa, at least, where the fallout from everything that had just happened wasn’t quite so severe, but even there, their faces were well known and citizens were eager to report them. It was disheartening to realize that it would be far worse anywhere in Europe. There was absolutely no chance they could even get back to North America without being arrested or maybe shot on sight, much less the States.

Still, they got by. They had each other. Steve stayed strong in his convictions—once he got over his moping about being forced to leave Barnes behind—and his confidence kept the rest of them going, too. It would have been nice to have Natasha with them, but Clint, when he wasn’t spending all his time whining about how he’d left his family behind (by his own choice, Sam thought uncharitably on their worse days), was well trained in skills that were useful on the run. He helped them remain undetected, find shelters and ways to travel without drawing unnecessary attention to themselves. 

Still, even Clint had always had the backing of SHIELD on his missions. They were good enough to get along without the equipment or the backup in the long term, but the one thing they couldn’t do without for long was money. Nearly everyone on the planet knew all of their faces; even Scott’s, now that his mug shot was plastered all over the news, since it hadn’t been hard to identify him in Germany. 

Scott’s girlfriend, or whatever she was, and Hank Pym had gone on the news to denounce his actions and tell everyone that he had stolen the Ant-Man suit and used it without their approval. Scott hadn’t taken that very well. Sam would say he’d withdrawn even more since then, but he wasn’t one of the team to begin with, not really, and hadn’t exactly been close to them already. It was hard to judge whether he was losing faith in them, or just hadn’t had any to begin with. Sam was the one who’d suggested calling him when they’d needed help in Germany, but he hadn’t honestly expected Scott to agree to help so readily. He hadn’t asked; he’d just been grateful for the assistance. Now, he wondered whether he should feel guilty for dragging the man into this.

They made it less than a week before they had to do something illegal—something _else_ illegal. Not that they hadn’t expected it, of course. Being on the run with no resources or connections and no way to earn money meant that they were going to have to find a less than ideal way to get by. Still, it put a constant twisted, burning guilt in Sam’s stomach to think about. Not that they hadn’t broken the law already, not that people weren’t _dead_ in part because of their actions, but they’d been fighting for something, then. Now, they weren’t doing anything honorable or important. Their survival was on the line, but no one else’s was, and stealing food from markets in places that were already struggling to get by just felt wrong.

But it wasn’t like any of them could bring in any money. They couldn’t get any sort of a legal job, not being internationally wanted and globally recognized fugitives. There were unsavory ways to make money, though those would likely have left Sam feeling guilty as well, but they couldn’t chance even those. The kind of people who ran no-questions-asked operations were not the loyal or understanding type, and the reward for turning the fugitives in would be far more than they could offer anyone to keep them hidden.

So they started taking what they could. They stayed on the outskirts of small villages, sleeping outside or in abandoned dwellings, constantly on the move, trying to make their way vaguely northeast, maybe into India. One of them—usually Sam, who reluctantly admitted that he was most likely to be able to blend in somewhat, since he was the only one of the group who wasn’t white—would move into town when they could and sneak food and other supplies from markets, open buildings, any place they could get it. It made Sam feel dirty and low, and that made it harder for him to keep the peace among the group, particularly when they were all already constantly stressed from their circumstances. 

They couldn’t risk trying to get near bigger cities to find more supplies or hear any kind of news. That isolation just contributed to their stress. It was becoming obvious to Sam, as weeks on the run turned into months, that their situation was unsustainable. Trying to move towards the Indian subcontinent gave them some sense of purpose, something to focus on, but his attempts to ask Steve about a plan beyond that were met with nothing but vague reassurances that they would “figure it out,” which meant Steve had nothing. No plan, and when they lost the one goal they had, everything would fall apart. But he didn’t know what to do about it.

He found himself withdrawing from the others. His fading faith in Steve as both a leader and a person was making him reevaluate his own choices and morality, and it wasn’t leading him to good thoughts or conclusions about himself. Even if he hadn’t had his doubts about Steve’s plan or his reasons for dragging them all into this fight, it would have been hard to keep up his idolized image of a man who stole food from the poor in order to avoid being caught for his crimes.

If Sam had been well-fed and less stressed, if he were _home_ and his mind were working optimally, he could have rationalized it, could have tried to be more understanding. But he wasn’t home, he was on the run, and stress and exhaustion and hunger were making him frustrated and angry.

They were also making him blind. In hindsight, it should have been obvious what was happening. That they’d gone nearly three months without a serious problem, without being spotted despite the fact that they weren’t always as careful as they should have been, was nothing short of miraculous—or magical. When he finally saw it himself one day, he realized what he should have noticed months ago.

He’d gone into the nearest village with Wanda. They were near a coastline now, passing by ports and fishing villages. There were plenty of places to shelter and open supplies to pilfer in places like these, but there was also the added risk of additional travelers and people who might be a little more aware of worldwide news, and potentially more likely to notice them. This time, the problem wasn’t even being caught stealing—Sam hadn’t taken anything, was just trying to move through the marketplace without drawing any attention to himself, when he saw a child tug on his mother’s dress and point at Sam.

Like an idiot, instead of turning around to hide his face, he just froze on the spot. He saw the mother turn her attention to the child, then turn to look at Sam, and he saw the moment her eyes narrowed in vague recognition, then widened in obvious realization. Oh, shit. All because of one slip. Things like this had happened before, but he was always good at slipping through the crowd when they did, relying on whoever had noticed him to assume it was nothing, not to pursue him.

This time, he didn’t turn away. As a consequence, he saw the mother clearly recognize his face—and then he saw the hint of red seeping into her eyes, and her child’s as well. He saw their faces go blank, and then there was a tight grip on his arm, Wanda steering him down the street and away from the village entirely. 

“That was close,” she was saying when Sam regained his senses, “it’s not usually so close. _Why_ did you just stand there? What is wrong with you?”

Thankfully, Sam had just enough sense left not to snap at her. He just shook his head and apologized, saying he was tired and not thinking straight. Well, that was partially true, but now his mind was in overdrive as they made their way back to where the others were waiting. 

He should have known. It should have been obvious that there were slips, and that there was no way they’d gotten this lucky until now. That Wanda was using her powers to keep people from recognizing and reporting them. He should probably be grateful for it, but all he could feel was a deep unease. Not only were they stealing to stay alive, but now they were messing with people’s minds as well? He was starting to think that this wasn’t worth it. That whatever problems with the Accords that they’d fought against couldn’t be worse than what they were doing to escape them.

He felt like he needed to talk to someone about this, but he didn’t know who. Wanda would defend her use of her powers. Steve indulged everything she wanted without question, and Clint treated her like a daughter. So that night, when they were scouting around for a new place to sleep, he pulled Scott aside and went off with him under the pretense of looking for a good way out to the next village over, and he told him everything that had happened that day and everything he’d concluded about the last few months on the run.

“I just… I don’t know, this doesn’t feel right,” Sam confessed while Scott walked alongside him, silent but attentive. “We don’t really know if there are any lasting effects on people from Wanda’s powers. And even if there aren’t, that still just seems like such a… violation. I know it makes me sound like a hypocrite, since we’re on the run at all, but it just feels like it’s crossing a line.”

Scott was quiet for a long time. “I can’t really say I’m glad to hear it,” he finally said, “but honestly, it’s good to know I’m not the only one who doesn’t like any of this. I joined up with you guys because I thought we were fighting bad guys. But we fought the Avengers. Hearing what Hope said, it made me think that maybe I got in a little over my head. And now we’re on the run, and it’s not like I haven’t been a criminal before, but the others act like we’re still doing the right thing, here, and it bugs me. Also, honestly? Wanda scares me shitless. I don’t like her creepy magic and I don’t like how she doesn’t seem to care who she uses it on.”

Sam swallowed hard at that. “I used to listen to Steve when he said that she was still learning, that she was trying her best and needed to be given a chance. But she’s never changed, hasn’t even made an effort, as far as I’ve seen, and Steve just refuses to make her take responsibility for herself. He just makes it worse.”

They walked in silence for another minute before Scott spoke up again, quietly. “Do you ever think we should just… stop? Turn ourselves in? I don’t exactly want to go back to prison, but I’ve gotta admit… this isn’t much better.”

That hit him hard, because it was true. Sam didn’t want to go to prison either. In part, some small part of him still clung to the idea that as long as they remained free, they weren’t necessarily as guilty as the world seemed to think. But this life on the run, the constant stress and the petty crimes just to keep themselves alive… it wasn’t any better than they’d be doing behind bars. This wasn’t freedom.

“I don’t know if it’s come to that for me yet, but I can’t say you’re wrong,” Sam said. “Listen, if you want to get away from us, I won’t blame you. I can help you do it, if you want. But I don’t think I’m ready to leave yet.”

Scott shook his head. “It was just a thought. I don’t know if I have the balls to carry it out yet. But… thanks.”

After that, Sam started pulling away even more from Steve, Clint, and Wanda, and started spending more of his time with Scott. He could see Steve giving them looks sometimes, like he was disappointed in them, but Steve didn’t have a plan or a way out. He spent his time with Wanda, letting her complain about their situation and badmouth Stark all day long, so who was he to be bothered by Sam and Scott going off together?

It all came to a head about a week later. They were at the edge of India now, getting into busier cities, more crowded streets. Crowds offered them a slightly better chance to conceal themselves, but they also carried a higher risk of recognition. It was also both easier and harder, with all the people around, to swipe the supplies they needed, and to find unoccupied places to stay.

They reluctantly admitted that they _needed_ a way to get money. They spent some time pointlessly debating the merits of attempting to get a job. Steve and Clint argued that the manhunt for them had to have died down by now, and that in crowded places like this, there had to be some people looking for work who didn’t care who they were. Sam and Scott argued that a few months was hardly enough time for the world to just forget about them, and that anyone who might employ them would probably sell them out in a heartbeat.

They were on the topic again on day three after crossing the border when Wanda finally spoke up. “Stop arguing,” she said impatiently, “I can’t stand listening to you anymore. You need money? Fine.” And she waved a hand at the crowd, sending Sam’s stomach sinking through the ground.

They slipped into an alleyway out of sight of the main streets and were followed by a man with red in his eyes. He wore a tailored suit and carried an expensive bag—obviously there on some kind of business, and clearly wealthy. As they stood there apprehensively, he pulled his wallet out, opened it, and handed Wanda a fistful of bills from it, all while staring blankly ahead. She took the money and the man put his wallet away, turned, and walked back onto the main street, rejoining the crowd.

The rest of them were frozen to the spot. Wanda rolled her eyes, scoffed, and strode off onto the next street over. As she disappeared around the corner, the spell over the rest of them seemed to break and they hurried after her. They followed her and managed to catch up just as she slipped out of a building, beckoning for them to follow her around the corner, where she opened the door into a small but relatively clean room, a motel of some sort.

As they all crossed the threshold, she closed the door behind them and smiled. “See? A place to stay. You’re welcome.”

Steve looked stunned. “I—well, thank you, Wanda, but you—”

“You’re not serious!” Scott burst out before he could finish. “She just _robbed_ a guy, and you’re going to thank her for it?”

Wanda crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You saw him, he was rich. It’s not like he gave us everything he had. He’s got credit cards, and I’m sure he can get more cash. He might not even miss it.”

Scott shook his head and backed up a step, away from Wanda. “Are you kidding? It was okay because he’s rich? So you can just brainwash people into doing whatever you want, handing over their money, just because you’re not taking everything they have?”

“It’s not brainwashing,” Steve said fiercely, crossing his arms as well, “that’s not the same.”

It took Sam a second to understand what Steve was talking about. Barnes, of course. His precious Barnes was a victim of brainwashing, by the unquestionably evil HYDRA; Wanda couldn’t possibly be the same. Never mind that the organization that brainwashed and tortured his buddy was the very same one Wanda had volunteered for in order to get the powers she was now abusing. “You aren’t seriously defending that, Steve, are you?” Sam asked, the disappointment clear in his voice. 

Steve looked hesitant. “I know it’s not a great situation,” he hedged, “but we really do need the money. This isn’t really any different than stealing food like we have been.”

“Are you kidding?” Sam said, and his voice was rising, stress preventing him from remaining as calm as he normally would. “Of course it’s different. Stealing was bad enough, but breaking into someone’s mind, forcing them to just hand over what you want, that’s worse. That’s going too far, Steve. I thought you were a good guy, man.”

It was obvious the barb stung Steve. Clint also looked uncomfortable at Sam’s words, but Wanda took an aggressive step forward, red magic now swirling at her fingertips. “Because _you’re_ such a great help! I did what I had to do, for all of us! What does it matter? He won’t remember it, won’t even know what happened. I didn’t hurt him!”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” Scott shouted.

Wanda whirled toward him, but Steve stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s all calm down, okay? We can talk this out. We don’t need to shout,” he said with a pleading look, glancing at the door.

Scott backed up some more. “No way, man. I can’t stay here with her. Or with you, if you’re really going to defend her. You’re crazy.” He turned to look at Sam. “You think you’re ready now?” he asked, obviously referencing their talk a while back.

Sam hesitated for just a second before nodding and joining Scott. They’d crossed a line and he knew it. If Steve was really okay with this, then he wasn’t the man Sam had thought, and Sam couldn’t stand by him any longer.

“What? What are you doing?” Steve said, watching them with wide eyes.

“We’re leaving, Steve,” Sam said. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t what I signed up for. I followed you because I thought you were doing the right thing. But this? This isn’t the right thing. You’re a criminal, and you’re hurting people just so you can keep from getting caught. I can’t condone that.”

“No, Sam, please wait,” Steve begged, letting go of Wanda and stepping toward them. “We can figure this out. This doesn’t have to happen again.”

“No way,” Scott said. “This isn’t right, and we’re leaving. We’re turning ourselves in, and you, too.”

Sam had less than a second to process that and to realize that Scott said the wrong thing before there was a shift in the room, like a change in the air pressure. “No!” Wanda shouted from behind Steve, and when Steve turned to face her and moved out of Sam’s view, Sam saw that her magic was swirling all around her body.

“Wanda, please,” Steve tried, moving toward her, but a tendril of her power shoved him out of the way and she advanced toward Sam and Scott. 

“I am not going back there! I will not be locked up like an animal again! I won’t let you ruin everything!”

Scott moved toward the door, but before he could reach it, a red barrier appeared in front of it. When Scott tried pushing through the barrier anyway, Wanda’s magic threw him across the room. He hit the wall on the other side and landed on the floor with a groan. “Wanda!” Clint shouted, alarmed, but he didn’t try to approach her.

Sam took a step toward Scott, intending to help him up, but Wanda obviously interpreted it as an attempt to go for the door, because he only made it two feet before the tingling, cold, creeping feeling of Wanda’s powers was wrapping around him and lifting him from the floor.

He was flung back, away from Scott, at the opposite wall. He was in the air for less than a second. He still hadn’t had time to get his bearings, or even to process that he’d been lifted and thrown, before he impacted a sharp corner of the wall headfirst. A loud, dull crack echoed in his own head, and the entire world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter turned into more of an in-depth exploration of Sam’s thoughts than I thought it would, but oh well. Also, please forgive me if Scott doesn’t seem at all in character. I still have never seen Ant Man, so my only glimpse of him was in CW. Second chapter is already half done so it should be posted soon!
> 
> Also, I feel I should mention, since I tend to write from the point of view of the Rogues in these stories, that I don't necessarily agree with their thoughts and justifications. I try to write how I think they might think and rationalize what they do to themselves, but that doesn't mean it's right. Even if he was starting to recognize the truth here, Sam's still a hypocrite even in this story and I personally still think he's wrong about the Accords, but he thinks how he thinks.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve wasn’t sure how it had all gone so wrong.

First it was the whole thing with the Accords, blown way out of proportion and forcing them to leave the country. Then Bucky, choosing to go back into cryo, and T’Challa kicking them out, forcing him to leave Bucky behind. Then the months on the run, living without a home or money or food, having to resort to petty theft just to survive. It was brutal, and it had worn him down.

He’d been so sure of himself when they’d landed in Wakanda, ready to take a little time to regroup before they were inevitably asked back. He was already planning a letter to Tony in his head, to let him know that despite their differences, despite everything Tony had done, they would be back when Tony was ready to apologize and let it go. Maybe a small part of it was guilt, too, at not having told Tony about his parents sooner—but Tony’s reaction in Siberia just proved that Steve was right to keep it from him. 

But having to leave had torn that plan apart. He’d thought that T’Challa understood, that he’d granted Bucky sanctuary because he saw their point of view. But T’Challa claimed that he was only repaying his debt to a man he wronged and that he still supported the Accords his father helped write, and he kicked them all out.

The months on the run were hard in every sense. He felt like he was losing his team; Wanda and Clint were always angry, Sam and Scott were withdrawn. They never heard from Natasha and had no idea where she was. Steve couldn’t help but dwell on Bucky. They were cut off from news sources and most of the rest of the world. Even if they were being asked back, they wouldn’t know it, and Sam kept insisting that they couldn’t risk trying to check. He seemed convinced that none of this was going to blow over, that they’d be fugitives forever, and it upset Steve to see him so despondent.

He wasn’t completely blind to Wanda’s influences when they were hiding out. He knew that she’d used her powers to get them out of trouble a few times. And while he might not have approved of it under other circumstances, it seemed ungrateful to be upset about it when she was doing it to help them. Also, he couldn’t blame her for protecting herself. At the Raft, they’d had her in that awful collar, restrained like she wasn’t even a person. It was cruel and inhuman, and Steve could understand her need not to end up in a place like that again, even if it meant occasionally influencing a civilian, making them forget what they’d seen. It wasn’t as though she was hurting them.

When she’d made a man hand over the money in his wallet, Steve had initially been too shocked to say anything. He hadn’t thought she’d be that bold. She’d talked to him about it, suggested it a few times already. She’d also suggested that she could get them into real rooms by just placing a bit of a _suggestion_ in the minds of the owners. He’d always told her not to, telling himself that as long as they weren’t in serious danger, there was no reason to go that far. Internally, he’d been tempted once or twice, but he’d thought he was firm enough to Wanda’s face to convince her not to do it.

It all spiraled downward so fast. They’d barely closed the door behind them before Sam and Scott were arguing, telling Wanda she’d crossed a line, and she was yelling back. Steve hadn’t known what to do, what to say to keep her calm, and then Sam and Scott had said they were leaving, turning all of them in… Steve could hardly blame Wanda for blocking the door, for lashing out. Sam and Scott hadn’t been the ones collared like animals in that prison.

But when she threw Scott across the room, Steve started to think that he should have done more to stop her, to calm her down. This didn’t need to get physical. Before he could even try to get close to her again, though, Sam was also being thrown across the room, hitting the opposite wall with a thud and sliding to the floor. 

Steve moved toward Wanda, trying to get in front of her, to do _something_ to keep her calm. Just as he reached her, Scott groaned, pushed himself up from the floor, and started toward Sam, clearly meaning to check on him. He only took a single step, however, before his face went sheet white and he fell back to his knees, staring across the room. “Oh my god.”

Steve, still occupied with Wanda, saw Clint turn to follow Scott’s gaze and go pale as well. “Holy shit,” Clint breathed, looking sick, and Steve finally turned.

He hadn’t seen Sam hit the wall, just heard it. But now he could see it, where Sam had clearly impacted the corner of the wall where the bathroom was divided from the main room. He could see it, because there was a bright red streak of blood smeared down the wall from the point of impact to where Sam was crumpled on the floor, completely motionless. He couldn’t distinguish the color of the blood on the brown carpet, but the carpet already glistened wetly in a disturbingly large halo around Sam’s head.

Steve was frozen in place, staring at Sam, one hand still reaching forward for Wanda. Scott struggled back to his feet and made it over to Sam, kneeling next to him, hands hovering awkwardly over Sam’s head like he was afraid to touch him. After a moment, he seemed to come to some conclusion and repositioned himself to pull Sam up from underneath his shoulders. Sam’s head lolled on a completely limp neck and his blood smeared across Scott’s arms and his shirt, creating a sickening display that felt like it stopped Steve’s heart.

It seemed Wanda had finally calmed down without Steve’s help, because Clint was pulling her back, away from the door, talking to her in a low voice. Scott managed to drag Sam to where Steve was standing, half blocking the path to the door. Scott looked up at him, his expression wary and pleading. “Please, let me take him to the hospital. He’s going to bleed out. Please let me take him,” Scott implored.

That brought Steve’s train of thought to a grinding halt. Did Scott really think that Steve would stand in his way, would let Sam die rather than risk letting him go to a hospital? Was that really the impression he’d given off, was that what kind of man Scott saw him as? Was that why Scott and Sam had been so quiet and withdrawn in the last few weeks in particular? Did they see him as a failure of a leader, as a morally corrupt person who’d rather let a teammate die than go to prison?

A tiny voice in the back of his head, one he usually ignored, whispered _yes_. It knew that was what Steve deserved, because it was true. After all, he’d nearly killed Tony, hadn’t he, to save Bucky. Tony had been a teammate, a friend, and Steve was ready to kill him in that bunker before he’d regained his senses and just destroyed the arc reactor instead. Tony may have been trying to kill Bucky, but Steve was supposed to be the better man, and in that moment, he hadn’t been. He’d been ready to sacrifice one friend for another. Maybe Scott had every right to think he’d let Sam die here.

But he wouldn’t; he couldn’t. He nodded, too numb to speak, and moved to pick Sam’s legs up. They moved him out of the room, away from the building and back toward the main street. Scott was already covered in blood from holding Sam’s head up against his chest, and Steve could barely focus beyond that. He’d seen plenty of injuries in his time, gruesome and deadly ones, but for some reason, this time, he just couldn’t think beyond all the blood.

The next few hours were a blur. He wasn’t even sure how they managed to get to a hospital from the relatively small town they’d been in. He didn’t really remember the ride there, just that Scott had ushered him into a vehicle at some point and spent the ride pressing one hand to Sam’s neck to make sure his heart kept beating and one to his head to try to slow the bleeding. There had been blood all over his bare chest, his shirt sacrificed to be pressed against Sam’s head as a makeshift bandage.

The hospital they arrived at was small and overcrowded, but Sam was at least taken away quickly. Steve followed the doctors and would have been glad, if he’d spared it a thought, for the relatively relaxed rules compared to an American hospital, where he probably wouldn’t have been permitted to be right in the room as they treated Sam. He was pulled out once or twice for x-rays, but always let back in. The doctors and nurses mostly just ignored him.

It was impossible to tell what was happening to Sam. The doctors weren’t speaking English and Steve didn’t know anything medical beyond basic first aid anyway. He could only watch all the activity and assume that as long as they kept working, Sam was still alive.

Things finally seemed to be calming down, the activity around Sam’s bed less frantic and many of the doctors gone, when the room was stormed. Officers in black tactical gear, guns in hand and pointed straight at Steve, swarmed around him where he stood at Sam’s bedside and ordered him to his knees. Still in shock from what had happened, and worried about what could happen to Sam if a fight broke out there, Steve complied. He was handcuffed and marched through the hospital corridors at gunpoint—the staff cleared a path and didn’t look twice at the procession—and outside, where an armored truck was waiting. He was shoved into the back roughly and joined by several of the armed men.

He still felt like he was in shock during the ride. It hadn’t yet sunk in that he’d been arrested, that he was probably on his way back to the Raft, and that he’d left Clint and Wanda behind. He had no idea what had happened to Scott, only realizing right then that Scott had disappeared shortly after they’d arrived at the hospital. Even though the ride felt hours long, and very well could have been, all he could think about was the sight of all that blood, Sam’s motionless body, and the look on Scott’s face when he’d begged Steve to let him take Sam to the hospital.

All this because they’d needed some money. Because T’Challa kicked them out of Wakanda. Because the government wanted to control them with the Accords and Tony had just gone along with it, forced them to fight for what they believed.

Once again, like the trip to the hospital, the journey was mostly a blur. At some point he was in a helicopter, then another truck, then a plane, another truck, and finally he ended up exactly where he’d expected: a prison cell. He didn’t know where he was, wasn’t even sure of the country. His jailors didn’t look like normal prison guards. There were no bars, just four blank walls. No window in his cell. He wasn’t given a phone call—who would he even call, anyway?—or offered a lawyer. The people who brought him food ignored his questions and didn’t speak to him. He had no idea what was happening.

The days went on like that. He cycled through just about every emotion possible. He spent an entire day pacing his small cell restlessly, worried and honestly frightened. He spent hours angrily shouting at the walls, demanding a fair trial and telling them they couldn’t just lock him up indefinitely like this, though knowing in the back of his mind that they _could_ , and there was nothing he could do about it. He sat down on his bed and cried, for Bucky, for Clint and Wanda, for Sam and Scott, even for Tony, but mostly for himself. He became apathetic and spent hours lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, mind blank and exhausted.

Finally, the door opened one day to admit more armed and uniformed men. They handcuffed him again—he didn’t bother fighting them or even protesting at that point—and one of them informed him in accented English that he was being sent back to America. Relief flooded him at the news. At least there, he’d be closer to home, to something familiar. Maybe someone would finally speak to him. He wasn’t quite ready to believe that he’d receive a fair trial—not with Ross still on the loose and the Raft probably still in operation despite the damage he’d done breaking his friends out—but hopefully he’d have a chance, at least to talk to someone who could help fix this, if not to break out.

He wasn’t taken back to the Raft, but he also wasn’t taken to a normal jail. He still wasn’t provided with a lawyer, but a man who claimed to be a psychiatrist came in the day he arrived in his new prison and spoke with him. He told Steve that the evidence of his crimes was clear and obvious, and that considering the international nature of his crimes and his status as a superhuman, additional precautions needed to be taken.

The doctor said that a special international council had been created thanks to him and the others, and had agreed to send him back to America on the condition that he be imprisoned in a special facility for enhanced people and not ever be let out. Steve thought that was ridiculous and a violation of his rights, told the doctor as much, and was ignored. Steve tried to talk over the doctor, insist that this was illegal and that he couldn’t be treated this way, and was ignored. The doctor just told him that the American government had agreed to the terms set and that he was there simply to assess Steve’s mental state. He claimed that if the Americans hadn’t agreed to the terms, Steve would have been released to the countries who’d issued arrest warrants for him, who might very well have had him executed.

He asked Steve a long series of questions about what he’d done and why, how he felt about it, how it impacted other people, and other wandering, pointless conversations. He made Steve talk about not just the fight over the Accords, but also the HYDRA incident in D.C., the Ultron disaster, the New York battle, even the war, back before Steve had been frozen and revived. Steve became frustrated and annoyed at the constant questions, but every time he tried to protest, the doctor just asked him to continue talking.

When the doctor was done, Steve was moved to another cell. It wasn’t very different from the one he’d been in before, and the routine was similar, with a few additions. He was taken out under guard once a day to walk the halls and to be given the option to exercise in a minimal workout room. A psychologist, not the doctor he’d seen before but a new woman, came to see him every other day, just to talk about “whatever he wanted.” He didn’t really want to talk to her at all, but he was lonely. The halls and the equipment room were always emptied of anyone but guards when he was taken out, and though the guards who brought him food sometimes said hello, they wouldn’t talk to him beyond that. He had no idea what had happened to any of the others. He had no idea what would happen to _him_. Was this really how it was going to end, was he going to spend the rest of his life here?

He wasn’t certain how much time passed before he got a visitor. He was fairly sure it had been at least a week or two, but not a month, he didn’t think. Since being given the serum, he had an excellent internal clock and a great memory, but the days really did blur together when he had nothing but a couple of books to read and some paper to write or draw on, when he didn’t see anyone or receive any news from outside the four walls that felt like they were closing in on him every day.

The door was opened unexpectedly and he was told he had a visitor. Guards came in and cuffed him again, which he found unnecessary and irritating. The guards were always armed. They took him down the hall to a room resembling an interrogation room in a police station, though without the wall of one-way glass. His hands were briefly freed and then re-bound to the table in front of him once he’d sat down in the chair he was directed to. The guards left the room, leaving him alone in the chair. He resisted the urge to fidget, sure he was being watched and not wanting to give them the satisfaction, but he did subtly test the strength of the chains and the leeway they gave him; very little, he wouldn’t even be able to stand from the chair without being forced to bend over slightly, and though it was possible he might be able to break the cuffs if he really tried, the effort would be obvious and he had no doubt he’d be swarmed by guards before he could get free.

He sat in the chair and waited for what felt like forever. Patience had never been one of his strengths, and being locked up for the last however long hadn’t improved that, it seemed. He wondered if this visitor was someone who could help him finally get this straightened out, a lawyer, maybe, or someone from SHIELD. It was probably too much to hope that Tony would have calmed down by now and come to help him.

Finally, the door opened again and admitted his visitor: Colonel Rhodes. He was an unexpected sight, enough that Steve just stared for a minute. Steve hadn’t been there for the end of the fight in Germany, too focused on escaping with Bucky, but Sam had told him after he’d broken them out of the Raft that Rhodes had been injured, badly. A bit of guilt twisted Steve’s insides as he registered the mechanical braces embracing Rhodes’s legs. Rhodes had a neutral expression on his face, but Steve could see the fury in his eyes immediately. 

“Rhodes,” he said, starting to reach up out of instinct before remembering his bound hands, “it’s good to see you.” He tried for friendly, but faltered immediately at Rhodes’s obvious lack of amicability. 

Rhodes didn’t say anything, just shook his head. He looked Steve over with something that resembled disgust, spending a long moment just standing there in front of the door. Finally, just as Steve was about to open his mouth to say something more, he finally moved to the other side of the table and sat down.

“So,” Rhodes said, and Steve nearly flinched at the cold, unfriendly tone. He wondered if Rhodes blamed him for his injury. “Right from one mess and into another, huh? I guess you just can’t stop yourself from assaulting people, can you.”

That provoked Steve. “I haven’t assaulted anyone,” he snarled, then turned his head away and tried to take a deep, calming breath. Apparently his imprisonment had shortened his temper.

“Even if we were going to forget about Romania and Germany and Russia, by legal definition, you’re an accomplice to your little witch’s assaults, too, not just in that motel, but out on the streets.” Rhodes said, hard and unforgiving.

When Steve’s head jerked back up at that, Rhodes gave him a cold smile. “That’s right, we know what happened. Lang, moron though he might be, was smart enough to turn himself in, and save himself some trouble by telling us everything, from your little foray to Wakanda to your pet psychopath finally losing it.”

Steve’s heart leapt into his throat at that. They knew about Wakanda, and Bucky. “You—Bucky?” he managed to croak out. Would T’Challa have handed him over once everyone knew where he was? Was Bucky on his way to prison, or—nearly unthinkable—dead already?

“Wow.” Rhodes leaned back in his chair, the disgust on his features deepening as he looked at Steve. “I knew you put Barnes above everyone else, but that’s really a new low, isn’t it. Do you actually give a single shit about anyone _but_ him and yourself?”

Steve backtracked immediately. “No, of course I—is Sam okay?”

Rhodes let out a decidedly unfriendly snort. “Do you actually care?”

Steve bristled at that. “Of course I do. He’s my friend.”

“Didn’t seem like he was your friend when you were letting Wanda smash his head into the wall.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “You don’t know anything about what happened.”

“I do, remember? Lang told us how she liked to fuck with random people on the streets, which you didn’t seem to give a damn about, and then when he finally called her out on it, she lost her shit. Decided she’d rather kill her allies than be taken in for her crimes.”

Steve felt the protectiveness for Wanda rising in him. She was just a kid, misjudged and wrongly blamed and feared, and she was trying her best. “They had her in a collar like an animal in that place. You can’t blame her for not wanting to go back. She wasn’t hurting anyone.”

Rhodes let out a cruel laugh. “Not hurting anyone? Screwing with people’s heads and robbing them isn’t hurting anyone? Throwing your friends into walls when they disagree with you isn’t hurting anyone? You’re fucking delusional. She _murdered_ people. She’s a dangerous sociopath and a HYDRA volunteer and maybe she was in that fucking collar because she deserved to be!” He was practically shouting by the end.

Steve made an angry motion like he was going to stand, but was yanked awkwardly back down by the chains around his wrists. He thumped back into his chair, panting and furious, readying himself to shout right back. But Rhodes had sat back in his chair again, a faraway look in his eyes.

“You know, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re still defending her. You’re exactly like her, after all.”

Steve knew it was meant to be an insult, but he scoffed. Wanda wasn’t a bad person. What had happened to Sam was a terrible accident, but an accident nonetheless. He opened his mouth again, about to say something else to defend Wanda, but Rhodes’s next words stopped him short.

“When we first got called out to deal with you, you know, I thought that fight was about what happened in Siberia. I figured you told them the truth, and Sam, having an ounce of decency in him, told you to fuck right off.”

Here, the cold fury in Rhodes’s eyes became more pronounced than ever. He stood up and leaned over the table, towering over Steve, and Steve felt his breath catch in understanding. Rhodes knew about Siberia. This wasn’t about Rhodes’s injury. It was about Tony. Rhodes was as loyal to his best friend as Steve was to his, and what had Steve done when his best friend was threatened? Beaten Tony down, disabled his suit, left him behind. What vengeance could Rhodes have designed in retribution?

“But,” Rhodes continued, danger in his voice, “Lang didn’t even _know_ about Siberia. According to him, you didn’t tell them what happened. In fact, you _lied_ to them, told them that Tony attacked you out of the blue. You lied to them like you lied to Tony, and when they started disagreeing with you later, you let Wanda attack them just like you attacked Tony. You’re no different from the witch. You’d happily let a teammate die just to avoid having to pay for your crimes. You’re a coward and a traitor and a _disgrace_ to everyone who ever called you a hero.”

Steve sat, frozen, under Rhodes’s accusations. He wanted to defend himself, but words came up short under the fury, the hatred, in Rhodes’s eyes. So he sat, silent and ashamed, until Rhodes snarled and pushed himself back, taking a couple steps back from the table and closing his eyes, visibly calming himself.

“The international council that was created to deal with you has officially found you guilty of negligent homicide, aggravated assault, attempted murder, terrorism, obstruction of justice, and a long, long list of other crimes. They’ve agreed that for the safety of the public, you won’t be let out again. So enjoy the rest of your life here.”

Rhodes took a breath. “Since Lang outed T’Challa, he’s been in a bit of trouble. Harboring fugitive terrorists will do that. He agreed to hand Barnes over to get some of the heat off him and his country—and before you get your panties in a twist,” Rhodes added at Steve’s wide-eyed look, “he’s being transferred to a psychiatric facility here in the States. He’ll be well taken care of and treated fairly until they can find a resolution for the triggers in his head and all the trauma he’s been through. _Then_ , assuming he’s ever in full control of himself again and mentally competent, he’ll face a fair trial for his crimes.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that. Bucky shouldn’t be facing trial at all, what he’d done as the Winter Soldier was not his fault, but… being brought back to the States, getting treatment, that was more than Steve had expected out of Rhodes, Tony, or any of the Accords people. “I…” he started, but trailed off, unsure how to go on.

Rhodes looked at him for a long moment. “Do you actually want to know what happened to the others?” 

Steve immediately felt guilt flooding him. He hadn’t tried asking again about Sam, or any of the others. “Of course I do,” he said, hoping Rhodes could hear the sincerity in his voice.

“Lang turned himself in, like I told you. He’s facing some consequences for violating his parole and destroying that airport, but at least he didn’t get anyone killed. Barton and Maximoff ran after your little incident. Strike teams caught Barton on his own a couple hours later. Unrelated, but since she’s apparently on your side now, you might be interested to know we caught Romanoff, too.”

“You caught Natasha?”

Rhodes nodded. “She’s lucky, honestly. After breaking the Accords, plus all the burned SHIELD agents who still want her dead, she’s safer in prison. That whole D.C. fiasco is finally biting her in the ass legally and she’s not getting out, ever. Barton’s a little luckier; he wasn’t involved in D.C. or Lagos, and he was smart enough not only to get away from Maximoff after what happened, but also to give in without trying to resist arrest when they found him.”

“What do you mean, he was lucky to get away from Wanda?” Steve had a bad feeling.

Rhodes gave him a flat look. “She’s dead.”

“What?” Steve once again tried to surge to his feet, only to be yanked down by his hands and forced to sit back down. He swallowed hard and tried to speak around the lump in his throat. “You didn’t have to kill her. She was just a kid.”

Rhodes’s expression turned hard again. “She was decidedly _not_ a kid, Rogers. She was a grown woman, with superhuman powers which she abused without discretion or respect for the most basic human rights. But since you seem to think she was some kind of saint, would it change your opinion to know that she killed eleven officers when they tried to arrest her? Six more are in the hospital, catatonic thanks to whatever she did to their minds. They finally had to take her out with a sniper, because her rampage was endangering civilians.”

Steve wanted to say something, but grief was stealing his words. He’d failed Wanda. She must have been so frightened, of people attacking her, locking her up just for being who she was, that she lashed out at them. Evidently Steve hadn’t made enough of an impression on her, when he talked about not letting their fear get to her. And now she was dead, because he hadn’t protected her. He never should have left her on her own. He shouldn’t have left that room… but Sam had needed help more urgently. 

The pit in his stomach was growing, knowing that Rhodes still hadn’t said anything about Sam. Suddenly, in a moment of both clarity and weakness, Steve didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know the damage he’d caused with his inability to keep the peace, to help Wanda control her powers. He couldn’t escape the truth that his failure as a leader had caused Sam’s injury. But he had to face it. He took a deep breath and looked up at Rhodes. “Sam?”

Rhodes was silent for a minute, watching Steve. “Sam was in a coma for two weeks. Fractured the back of his skull pretty badly, some serious bleeding in his brain, plus traumatic injury of the brain itself. He woke up a couple weeks ago. Could barely do anything at first, but he’s been… improving. Slowly.”

“Improving?” Steve’s voice was quiet.

Rhodes nodded. “Injury to the cerebellum. His balance is totally shot. He couldn’t even stand up at first, but he’s graduated to a walker. Physical therapy thinks he might be able to walk by himself eventually, but he’ll always have a bit of a funny gait. He also can’t coordinate his limbs very well, but they’re working on that, too. He’s completely blind in one eye, that’s never getting fixed, but the other one is okay. Damaged his dominant frontal lobe, too. He can’t write much anymore, struggles with basic arithmetic, and he’s got something called Broca’s aphasia—he can’t speak very well, he can understand what people say but can’t express thoughts back to them. It’s frustrating, but he’s working through it. With speech therapy, he’ll be able to improve it a little, but he probably won’t ever be able to really speak in full sentences again. They’re not sure about his memory yet. He doesn’t remember much of the last week or so, but that could just be the healing brain injury. It’s hard to assess whether he’s putting anything into long-term memory yet.”

Steve listened to the entire explanation with growing horror. If he could, he’d have put his face in his hands. As it was, his throat seemed permanently closed up.

“It sucks, but it could be worse,” Rhodes continued pragmatically. “He’s alive. He can feed himself and dress himself without much help. He can move around. There’s other ways to communicate besides talking and writing. When he’s out of the hospital, he’s going to eventually have to face trial for what he’s done, but at least he’ll get that chance. He got lucky, he’s a hell of a lot better off than a lot of people with those kinds of injuries.”

Somehow, that cold, clinical assessment made everything worse. The way Rhodes called Sam _lucky_ , like anything about his situation was fortunate, was awful, but worse was knowing, deep down, that it was true. Sam _was_ lucky. He was lucky to be alive, and it was all Steve’s fault. He’d dragged Sam, all of them, into his fight for Bucky. Now Clint and Natasha were in prison, Wanda was dead, and Sam was horribly injured and facing a long recovery, one that wouldn’t even give him full function back. 

Rhodes lowered his voice, adopting a contemplative tone, like he wasn’t even talking to Steve. “Tony’s working on something to help him at least with the mobility stuff. He developed these for me,” he gestured to the braces on his legs, “and thinks he could adapt it for Sam. Maybe release it for general use as a prosthetic. Tony’s like that, you know. Always working to help people, even when they’ve hurt him. We’ve been working on that, me and his friends.” Steve tried and failed not to be hurt at his obvious exclusion from Tony’s friends, but he supposed he deserved it. 

Rhodes continued, “there’s got to be a line drawn somewhere. A point at which you just give up on someone. I think it’s finally getting through to him. That’s why he didn’t come here. I came out of… morbid curiosity, let’s call it. Just to see if you’re as much of an insufferable, self-righteous, completely unrepentant jackass as I thought, and I was absolutely right. But Tony already knew that, and he doesn’t need absolution from you. So don’t take his gestures for Sam, or Barnes, or anyone else as some kind of sign that he wants anything to do with you. He’s washed his hands of you.”

Steve let out a breath that came out closer to a sob, but Rhodes looked indifferent to his emotions. Rhodes looked Steve over again like he was something rotten stuck on the bottom of his shoe, then turned to leave. He paused at the door just long enough to deliver one last blow. “You had everything, you know. A heroic reputation, all your super strength, a team that followed you, and everything Tony ever gave you. And you threw it all away. If you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m sure when you spend the rest of your life rotting away in here, you’ll eventually realize whose fault that is.”

Without looking back at him, Rhodes yanked open the door and strode out. Steve was left to sit and wait for the guards to return, to unchain his hands and bring him back to the cell where he’d spend the rest of his days. He finally let a tear fall as he sat there, watching his life crumble around him. Rhodes need not have worried; he already knew whose fault this was. 

Because Rhodes hadn’t lied: he’d had everything, but he hadn’t seen it until it was too late and he’d ruined it. He’d been so busy berating Tony for keeping secrets and being rude and egotistical, he hadn’t stopped to recognize the privileges his own reputation gave him. He’d driven away the one man who could possibly have helped him out of this situation, and when it had come down to a choice, he’d chosen Bucky over Tony, and he knew it. 

He also knew that if the situations had been reversed, he’d still have protected Bucky. It wasn’t about who was morally in the right. It was about Bucky, and the simple truth that Steve valued his life over Tony’s. Over anyone’s, really. If it had really come down to it, he’d have traded any one of his teammates for Bucky. What kind of man did that make him? He’d told himself that it was right, that he was saving Bucky, but that hadn’t really mattered. He’d have done it anyway.

And where had that brought him? To disaster. To dead and imprisoned friends and a lifetime of incarceration himself. His team had followed him willingly and he’d led them to ruin. Bucky was getting the help he needed without Steve’s intervention, and Steve would never see him again. People were hurt and dead because of him, and he’d done it all for himself, for his own selfish comfort and desires. 

Rhodes was right: he wasn’t a hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually end my stories with Steve still being a stubborn ass who refuses to recognize his own faults, but I figured hey, for once, I want him totally broken down and left with nothing but the sure knowledge that he caused every one of his own problems.
> 
> Also, I know, the prison where Steve is being held is definitely a little questionable in terms of human rights violations, that and his lack of a regular trial, but hey, it’s a fictional universe, I can make up what I want. And in my version of this fictional universe, what are they supposed to do, unprepared, with a superhuman terrorist who could easily break out of a normal prison or make a run for it, killing whoever gets in his way, if he were ever let out on parole? Also, in this case, the evidence is pretty clear that he did, in fact, commit the crimes in question. His only possible defense could be some sort of insanity plea, hence the psychiatrist, or a hope for some kind of reduced sentence based on good intentions, which I don’t see happening in the case of charges of terrorism. I’m sure there’s special rules for international crimes and terrorism and things like that, but in this case, I just wrote the story from my imagination and didn’t bother doing research, so I hope it’s not too unrealistic for those of you who like very logical and realistic stories.


End file.
